


there's a cold heart, burried beneath, and warm blood, running deep. secrets - are mine to keep.

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Don't underestimate the allure of darkness. Even the purest of hearts are drawn to it. - Klaus Mikaelson.(vampire stiles is hot.)





	there's a cold heart, burried beneath, and warm blood, running deep. secrets - are mine to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> this is dumb, and I was bored.
> 
> kind of a mix of lucifer and tvd, frankly. I can't deny I had fun writing it though.

His eyes - _dark, mysterious and mesmerising_ \- met hers from the other side of the club, through the enormous number of bodies that swayed to the beat of a random song that filled the entire place. She let her gaze wander, and was quick to notice the black button down that covered his elegant torso, the first two buttons undone and showing the slightest bit of pale skin, but what she found herself staring at was his throat, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly before realising that he was staring at her, shamelessly, as well. His hands were clasped over the piano, elbows propped on the structure as he watched, and though she couldn't see it, she could only imagine how graceful he looked with his suit trousers, which Danny had not failed to mention when they had spoken about him. Him, who was the owner of said club, who apparently was single although no one knew that for sure, given how he never lost his air of mystery when speaking to someone, who everyone referred to as Mister Stilinski, who refused to get mixed up with mere mortals. Yet, to Lydia, he was just an attractive, unfamiliar male who happened to own one of the most famous, most frequented clubs in town, and therefore wasn't seen in daylight since in her wise, and  _oh so naive_ , opinion he slept during the day and took care of his business for most of the night. As he combed his seemingly long fingers through his dark hair, pushing it back and behind his ears, Lydia decided that though alluring, he was just a man. Her friend and the homicide detective she worked with was merely still a hormonal teenage boy, because there wasn't anything that enthralling about the male. Or so she tried telling herself, repeatedly, until the night was over. 

 

...

 

"Don't even think about it."

He heard his brother, Isaac, whispering in a warning and somewhat mocking tone, his sensitive, supernatural hearing giving him the ability to listen to him even when that loud music surrounded them. His fingers twitched, almost like a body reaction to the sudden urge he felt to approach the strawberry blonde, but he swallowed thickly and took advantage of all those years of experience that were going to help controlling himself. That was always enough. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"They're food, remember? You say it yourself, time and time again."

"Means of survival."

"Means of survival indeed." The brown haired male repeated, nodding his head slowly as if that was going to change anything. It wasn't, Stilinski's eyes were still set on the female that seemed guarded, not at all happy to be in a place that loud, and crowded which came as a surprise to him, considering how young she looked and last time he checked young people tended to enjoy that kind of places more than they should. That rowdy, poor excuse of music was nothing compared to the classical kind he had learned to play in the piano a very, very long time ago, nothing compared to the sound of violins. He missed that soft, soothing melody that filled entire ballrooms, the type of music that people could enjoy, dance to and still be able to maintain a perfectly normal conversation. But a dialogue seemed to have been replaced with poor, laughable ways to seduce women, and grinding was the new dancing. That familiar, boyish voice interrupted his musing, and he found himself focusing on the sound of his long companion's chuckle. A companion that he had been considering a brother for just as far as he learned to play the piano. "You are so infatuated already, brother. What is it about her?"

"Lovely, I'll give you that. But still just another human."

"Ordinary, too. Despite the nice clothes, and the ability to stand out by not making a complete fool out of herself under the influence of alcohol, she's still only one of them. Simple, fragile,  _delicious_."

 

He blinked slowly, purposely attempting to shut out the words that were still being spoken in his direction, words that he refused to answer or even acknowledge, but it was clear that the other male was not going to give up until he elicited an actual reaction. Surprisingly, being the oldest, he still did not have the same power to control his constant admiration for  _them_. He figured that was about to get him in trouble, because if another word wrongly spoken came out of his brother's lips, he  _was_  going to give him exactly what he wanted. And he had been hiding that admiration for far too long to jeopardise his work then, for a mere woman who was so unapproachable.

"Come on, you're not saying anything? Mister Stilinski — club owner/ladies' man who spends a couple of hundred dollars in a plain shirt, who's even as meticulous with his blood choices, who has his initials carved in cufflinks does not go for something like that."

A quiet, throaty chuckle slid past his plump lips whilst he swung one of his legs over the piano stool, standing and doing the same with the other before walking towards the bar, sneaking behind the counter whilst he rotated the clasp of his cufflinks and removed them, slipping them in one of the pockets of his grey trousers. As he finished folding his sleeves up by his elbows, he watched Isaac moving closer to the counter as well, though slipping onto a stool instead, expecting a drink — he could only assume. 

"You know, Zac, for someone who considers me rather predictable, you're not much different. What is it that you expect me to do? Growl? Order you not to go near her? Suck all of her blood until she's dry and dead on the floor so no one but me can have the pleasure of saying I harmed her? I _ate_ her?"

Pouring bourbon in two glasses, he placed down the half empty bottle next to him on the counter and curled his long fingers around his drink, bringing it up to his lips before taking a long, much needed swig. The old, harsh liquor no longer burned his throat, its effect having completely faded on him, but he still could feel the taste, remember its power which was why it was still his favourite drink, and when his hand stretched out to grab the bottle to pour another glass, he noticed the surprise that covered those soft, young features. 

"What?"

"You actually don't know? Are you that oblivious?"

Strands of floppy, long hair slipped down his forehead, and he was quick to brush it back again, scratching at the back of his neck whilst he shrugged. What was he supposed to know?

"Ironic how we're the murderers, and yet one of the precious ones still killed someone right in the alley by your bar." The change of subject caused him to frown, but as he watched the blue eyed male playing with the rim of his glass, he decided to go with it. At least he wasn't trying to irritate him anymore, and he was going to enjoy that for how long it lasted - which normally didn't last long at all. 

"They're not precious. They're flawed." Stilinski replied, clearing his throat even though there was no burning or lump in it. His words, however, demonstrated the barely there weakness he still felt deep within his no longer beating heart, and he had an idea of how much his brother hated it, the idea of it making him vulnerable to the point of either losing himself or destroying him for good. He knew, deep down, that Isaac would not survive without him. He never did. "They scream, they kill, they destroy everything. They're violent, they're despicable, they're small and full of hatred. They're capable of a lot of harm, though fragile and human. They create weapons and use them, or they kill and cause damage with their bare hands. They're not precious, much less innocent." But they are forgiving.

"Is that what you tell yourself when you sink your teeth in their tender flesh, and drink their blood?"

"Yes. What do  _you_  tell yourself?" He bit back quickly, taking pleasure in the way Isaac's eyebrows shot up in surprise at his tone. Normally, that was the kind of question he avoided to answer, but for once, he allowed himself the pleasure to let his brother know that he wasn’t at all that _oblivious_ to his attempts to irritate him, or anything else for that matter.

"Nothing," He shrugged. "If I was going to tell myself something, I'd talk myself out of it."

Stiles couldn't help it, an actual laugh escaped his lips at those words whilst his gaze wandered down to the counter, and although quietly, he still appreciated how many things had changed but his friend's somewhat innocence wasn't one of them. Looking up at the dancers spread around the club, he leaned forward and rested his weight on his elbows, assuring himself that was just another good night for business and not actually enjoying whatever else was happening around him, as usual. One would wonder why he had opened a club, if he wasn't going to enjoy it. Then again, most of the questions usually asked didn't have proper answers, and he just accepted that one as one of them. 

"She's the medical examiner. Doctor Martin." His brother said suddenly, his tone lowered as if anyone other than himself could hear him. "She's the one who performed the autopsy on the child that was murdered, therefore helping on the investigation to try and find her murderer."

Nodding so he could continue, he rubbed at his beard and waited. "I originally thought you were fascinated by her because of that."

"She was staring."

"What?"

"She was staring. That's why I was looking, too." That was, most definitely, an excuse but thankfully, the brown-haired male seemed to be okay with it, even accept it as an actual reason to why he had been nearly drooling at the sight of a mere human being. 

"Think she's onto us?" That cheeky smirk that made its way to his lips caused the oldest male to chuckle hoarsely again and as he began to play with his ring, sliding his thumb across the dark stone, he answered. 

"As if that was possible." Would it be so bad if she was, though? Turning away from his brother with a shake of his head, he tried as hard as he could to tell himself that he was being reckless, not to mention irrational, and in order to distract himself, he began to cut limes, not bothering with the glances he received from the staff.

 

...

 

He felt more than saw Doctor Martin moving further in the empty space of his vacant club, the soft sound of her heels clicking against the floor causing him to slip his long fingers out of the delicate keys and consequently stopping arabesque mid-song so he could look up into hazel eyes that watched him intently. Disappointment flashed across her expression for half a second, and he wondered if that was because she was enjoying listening to him, the mere thought of it causing his lips to quirk upwards in a faint smile. 

"Ah, Doctor Martin," Stiles said seductively while sliding out of his seat and facing the beautiful woman that was not, at all, scared to approach him. Maybe she hadn't heard the rumours about him, or if she had she was deliberately ignoring them for the sake of her investigation which he had trouble considering stupid or bold. Probably both.

"You know me?"

"I have heard of you, yes." He nodded, grabbing the empty glass from the top of his black, shiny piano before walking behind the counter and washing it. 

"Don't you have employees that would do that for you?"

"Don't you have detectives that would interrogate me for you?"

"What makes you think that I'm here to interrogate you?"

Another throaty laugh, and although he wasn't watching her anymore, too busy with his task of cleaning the countertop that could also be easily considered an attempt to keep himself in control, he could still feel her shivering in delight at the sound. Deciding he was having too much fun to put her out of her misery just yet, he continued. "You have curiosity written all over your features. Not to mention that you were clearly uncomfortable throughout most of the night, which leads me to believe you're here for another reason other that's not the club."

"I'm not exactly the outdoors kind of gal."

"It's a club, not a jungle." He mumbled, continuing eventually. "You're not very subtle, are you, Doctor?"

"And you're not very nice, are you?"

His dark eyebrows arched in both delight and surprise, appreciating the way the woman could handle herself. It wasn't because of the rush he'd perhaps feel chasing her, tormenting her, knowing she was somewhat capable of protecting herself, just not from him. It was because he didn't see that kind of spunk often, and he enjoyed it when he saw it. He smiled genuinely for the first time that night, feeling how the power of her glare was almost as strong as his and concluding then that maybe there was a reason to why he was enthralled by her already, after all. She wasn't helpless, or that naive as he initially thought, and certainly not dumb enough to deliver herself fully to his charms. 

"No, unfortunately I'm not."

"That's what I thought."

"How can I help you, Doctor? I wouldn't want you to waste your time any longer." For the first time, she seemed to be able to smile, too, and that was enough to convince him to drop that tough, harsh mask he put on over the years. 

"I'm sure you've been questioned, having your establishment so close to the crime scene." No, he hadn't been interrogated at all, but he figured she didn't have access to that extent of paperwork, and so he let it slide without reacting, not wanting to give the wrong impression and putting himself through a hellish night filled with unnecessary questions. "I was only wondering if you could tell me whether you've seen anything."

"Doctor Martin, no offence, but my club is filled with hundreds of people every night. Not to mention those that come and go. Do you really think I have the ability to memorise every face that gets a drink here? Surely, you've been told I own the place, I do not bartend which makes the task of knowing everyone a bit impossible. How do you expect me to have seen, or heard anything?"

"Are you always this obnoxious?"

"Most of the time, yes. But especially when I'm indirectly being accused of murder, or, at least, accessory."

"I'm not accusing you of -" Upon seeing the way his lips curled in a teasing grin, she quickly came to the conclusion that he was merely trying to rile her up - and succeeding at it - so she quickly took a deep breath, and decided to give it another try. "I'm only wondering -"

"I didn't see anything, Doctor. Nor had I heard of anything until my brother filled me in, tonight." That was a lie, and deep down, he assumed that she knew that, too. Her following words only proved it.

"Are you telling me you were not aware of a murder that took place right outside your club?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying." He sneered, finally stepping away from behind the counter as he approached her instead. "But I'm certain I can be of help, if you give me the details of the crime."

"No, thank you." She growled, turning away and taking a few steps towards the exit until his voice echoed through the walls once more.

"Female?" She didn't answer.

"Young, too? I assume your colleagues have gone about it the wrong way and are currently deciding that it was a stray bullet, if you're here, speaking to this obnoxious club owner that had no idea of a murder until only a couple of hours ago."

"Nice deduction skills." Finally, an answer. Humour, too, which he was beginning to believe she lacked.

"Sweet girl, right? Exceptional grades? Nice boyfriend? No foe? No drugs involved? Not even prostitution? I bet she wasn't even the drinking type."

He hadn’t done his research, even though he was indeed aware of that murder for longer than he led to believe. It was his experience that helped him getting to conclusions.

"Can we stop this guessing game, now?"

"It depends." He relented, sitting on one of the empty chairs, still facing her, as he dug his knees on his thighs and clasped his hands together once more. "Am I guessing correctly?"

"Maybe." It was her soft voice that gave her away, and he instantly realised that she was smiling, even if her back was turned to him. 

"Have you checked for close family? Siblings?"

"Of course." She answered quickly as if it was something obvious after turning around, yet still furrowed her brows in confusion. 

"What about heritages?"

"I -"

"You're welcome, Doctor Martin. Let me know if you ever need a drink."

"What? So, you just assume that you're right? You know, for someone who only found out about the murder tonight, you sure did get a lot of those things right."

"Maybe if your team or the people you work for weren't so close minded or just simply blind, you'd see things outside the box. It's simple, really,  _Doctor_ , the girl was murdered outside my bar, in an alley, in the middle of the night and you just assumed that maybe she was either a hooker or with too much drugs in her system, or that she was one of those tragic accidents of being caught in the middle of a crossfire. Maybe it was intentional, have you considered that? Surely, if there was a crossfire right outside my establishment, my clients would have noticed it, would have  _heard_  it. Have you considered this was just a hateful act? You humans, full of morals and rules, so naive and incapable of doing wrong. Maybe, just maybe -"

 

"I'm sorry,  _we humans_?"

_Deep breaths, Stilinski. Do not let your emotions cloud your judgement. You're a vampire - an old, terrifying and monstrous creature. You have more self-restraint than that. Rely on experience. Your experience. The one you’ve built for years, decades and even centuries. You can resist a pretty, curious girl._

"If we're done, now, Doctor Martin." He said instead, locking his hands behind his back as he straightened his posture and lost all hints of amusement, or the teasing attitude he had been sporting from the second she walked back in and approached him. "It's late."

"Right." She laughed dryly, but quickly regained control, and he watched as her throat bobbed when she swallowed thickly. That beautiful, creamy white neck -

_No, Stilinski. Stop._

"Thank you, Mister Stilinski."

"Anytime. Glad to be of service."

"Clearly."

He couldn't help himself, he just - "Be careful on the streets, Doctor. Wouldn't want you to show up dead. Two murders in such a short time is bad for business."

He made his way towards the kitchen where two of his bartenders were still cleaning up, and as one of them was finally going to head out to finish tidying the tables and chairs, not having walked out before in an attempt to give his boss some privacy, he grabbed the crook of his arm, forcing him to look at him. Amber coloured eyes met soft blue ones, and he spoke, lowly. "Find Doctor Martin outside, and make sure she gets home safe. Don’t let yourself be seen."

 

...

 

Finding the morgue wasn't hard, getting through the plenty of cops on the way wasn't at all difficult either, but convincing himself there was no reason to fear meeting the strawberry blonde... well, that was a different story. A week and several women later, he finally accepted that the pull he felt towards the medical examiner wasn't going to disappear no matter how hard he tried. Not that he planned on admitting it out loud,  _that was too much already_ , especially because his brother would never just  _accept_  it, like him, but seeing her again surely couldn't be that bad. Even if he wasn't sure what brought him to the police department, a place he had never been to before. But law had already become a constant in his life after that murder, and so he couldn't find himself bothered with heading to that dreading building that he always kept himself distanced from. It was only a building.  _That brought up a lot of old, bitter memories_.

Again, no reason why he was even going.

Maybe it was the fact that she was so fearless, almost as ruthless as he was, so… uptight, and arrogant, and so, so breathtakingly beautiful. 

Or maybe it was the fact he couldn't stand the way she dared speaking to him. 

_No, not really. He had enjoyed it. Sick bastard._

Perhaps it was because of the damaging effect she already had on him, and he wanted to make sure it hadn't been anything, that he could get rid of it. 

But anyway, there she was, bent over a corpse, scalpel buried deep inside a cold chest. And would you look at that, she looked gorgeous dressed in scrubs, facial expression showing signs of deep concentration whilst her gloved hands slid across a dead man’s cold chest. 

_Was that it?_ **_Death_ ** _? The ridiculous connection he already felt towards her? Had he already seen that on her without even knowing that detail about her?_

Truth was, so far that was the only thing that made sense.

"Doctor."

He should have known better. As he watched her jumping, amused at how startled she was upon hearing his husky voice, he told himself that he should have known better than sneaking up on her when she was in her morgue, working on a dead person. 

"Jesus -  _Mister Stilinski!_ " Suddenly, that sense of terror disappeared and was replaced with panic as she quickly grabbed a white sheet and covered the corpse. "I'm so sorry -"

"No need." He cut in rapidly. "They don't bother me."

"Dead people?"  _Oh, you sweet creature._

"Cadavers, Doctor." He answered, amusement covering his young features. "Besides, I was the one deliberately walking in your morgue without so much as permission. I knew what I was walking into."

"That's...  _not creepy at all_." She breathed, probably thinking he hadn't heard, but he had and he chuckled, unable to hide the fact those words had made their way into his ears. With his hands clasped behind his back, he observed her posture as she eyed him intently, probably actually seeing him for the first time. "You got a haircut."

"I did." His lips curled in a bright smirk at the thought of his long hair that was now much shorter, and completely tousled.

"And no more beard."

"That's right. Baby face."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far -" Colour covered her cheeks, and he wondered what went through her head at that moment, before she finally voiced her thoughts. "But you look  _really_  nice."

His brows shot up in surprise, before she began rambling.

"And you're wearing a scarf. Over your coat. Which defeats the whole purpose of wearing a scarf. And is that a waistcoat? Men still wear waistcoats? Also, great pants. They go wonderfully with that navy shirt."

"Thank you." He was _definitely_ entertained, and not at all regretting having decided to visit her. At that point, the only thing that occupied his mind was how easy it was to merely charm her, and have his way with her, but that was not what he wanted. Crazily enough, he wanted to be with her, as long as it was her desire. "I think you've just described my attire in less than thirty seconds. It's quite impressive."

"You were right, by the way." He was never getting used to people who changed subjects out of nowhere, without the smallest warning, but he still nodded.

"Family?"

"Sister."

"Heritage?"

"Yes, actually." She paused, giving him time to take in that information. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"I should have known you weren't giving me an actual answer."

"Am I that predictable?" His question caused her to smile sweetly as she placed down the scalpel and removed her gloves, guiding him towards her office and away from dead people. He couldn't believe she was still trying to protect him from them.

"No, you're just an ass, really." That nearly stole another chuckle from him, but he managed to hold it in as he followed the recent object of his affections into a large, tidied and filled with nice furniture office, hands still clasped behind his back until he came to a halt by the desk. "But you were right. And I feel like there is more to what you're letting me know, but I'm not pushing it. You'll talk once you're ready."

That was new. He wasn't used to people caring so much, perhaps because he hadn't cared much either and wasn't even something that went through his head. If he wanted information, he would demand it, space or time be damned. But he appreciated the way the doctor tried, maybe a little bit too much. He liked the feeling it gave him, that sense of understanding and patience that he himself had lost a very long time ago.

"Doctor Martin -"

"Lydia."

" _Lydia_." He tested, enjoying how it rolled off his tongue. "I was wondering if you'd like to have lunch with me." Maybe he was being a little bit too direct, or maybe he was making the poor woman feel uncomfortable, because as soon as those words left his lips, her eyebrows rose in surprise in a rather comical way, as if that was the last thing she had been expecting from him. Which was fair, he hadn't expected himself to go straight to the point either, mostly because had had been telling himself his intentions were off limits, and so was she. But then she was smiling, and nodding almost as if that was one of the simplest things in the world, and he merely watched, patiently waiting for a reaction that would actually help him concluding something, understanding what was happening.

"Of course. Let me just change."

"I'll be outside."

"Wait, don't you have a name?" Lydia asked when he was about to exit the office, and as his lips curved in a smile, not bothering to turn around, he nodded.

"Stiles."

"Stiles? Stiles Stilinski? That -" He didn't need to see her to know she was frowning. "Are you messing with me?"

When she got no response whilst he tried very hard not to tense under her gaze, she cleared her throat and whispered so softly that if it wasn't for his super-hearing, he wouldn't have quite caught it. "I see," She nodded. "Just another one of those things you're going to need some time to share with me."

"You're analysing me. I'm not sure how to feel about it, after all we just met. I'm not sure I'm supposed to share anything with you." He finally looked at her over his shoulder, a faint smile across his face. "But I suppose you're right. Time shall give you answers, Doctor Martin."

 

...

 

His eyes, she had noticed shortly after they chose a table, were much lighter than she initially thought. And his smile was perhaps the softest one she had ever seen. The smile he had for her, because the smile he addressed the waiter with after he attempted to make an awful, and wildly inappropriate comment about her attire was cold, menacing which, along with the harsh stare, caused even her to gulp nervously. She didn't want to be on the other side of that glare. But it wasn't like she was going to complain how quick he was to jump in and defend her honour, or how he opened every door for her, or how he refused to sit until she sat first, since he couldn't exactly pull a chair for her, or ( _the sweetest, and most impressive one in her opinion so far_ ) how he stood halfway whenever she had to leave the table to answer a call from the precinct. Frankly, she was in no position to deny the fact she was loving what he was allowing her to see of him so far.

 

...

 

“So, why death?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your job.” He clarified, though it didn't do much to answer her. “Why not a living people doctor?”

Ah, just another attempt of his to get to know her better. He seemed to do that a lot, and yet refused to show anything at all about himself. That thought alone made her chuckle under her breath, and it was only when she looked up from her fries that she noticed he was the one wearing the confused expression then.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“To be fair,” He said with a smirk, reaching out for his drink and wrapping his mouth around the straw. “…so do you. I just don’t answer most of them.”

She had still not found a way to get used to his arrogance either, and it was taking a lot of effort from her part not to consider it as attractive as she thought it was. He gave her a lot of mixed up feelings. _That was **definitely** new._

“It just made sense at the time.”

“Working on the dead?”

“Yeah.”

“So, it doesn’t make sense anymore?”

“It does.” She chuckled, and his brows furrowed in confusion once more, though a smile was still present on his face. “But back then, I was confused. And not in the _I don’t know what kind of thing I see myself doing in the future_ way. I was lost, terrified and had no idea what path to choose that would give me exactly what I needed. What satisfied me. What in, many ways, made me happy. _What made me accept myself_. I didn’t make this decision lightly, there was a lot of wondering, a lot of -” Her hands gestured nervously, as if she was trying to grasp at the right words that would make sense out of her thoughts. _Even then, she seemed confused._ “I was _lost_. It made sense to me back then. Now, it’s a part of me.”

“But why?”

“I’m just... connected to it, I guess.”

“Death?”

“Yes.” She nodded, as if emphasising her point. His gaze fell to his fries that were covered in ketchup, and he unhurriedly grabbed one of them, hoping that with his head bowed she had no chance to see his frown. “Then again, aren’t we all? Connected to death, I mean?”

That elicited a chuckle from him. A dry, rather forced chuckle whilst he wiped the salt from his fingers.

“Some more than others.” And that was an understatement.

When he looked up this time, she was watching him curiously. Not that it surprised him, after his answer to her words, it was only natural if she would end up eyeing him like he had lost his mind. Except, she was a woman of science, and so he could only hope that she’d take his words without any kind of sentiment. Even without his view of the world – an old, terrifying, dark creature – people were, regrettably, often connected to death, and his words were nothing but the truth. Some dealt with it more than others – some suffered from it more than others. It was when he noticed her gaze gravitating to his lips that he realised she really hadn’t taken his words with sentiment.

“You have, uh -”

“I’m sorry?” It took a little bit of an effort not to scowl, before she stretched out and wiped something from the corner of his mouth. When she lifted her thumb, and showed him how it was covered in ketchup, he finally realised what had stolen her attention seconds before.

“Ketchup.” She breathed, almost showing exactly how much the whole action had affected her. But just as the colour on her cheeks appeared, it faded quickly, and she continued. “I didn’t peg you as a messy eater. Handsome, composed Stiles Stilinski.”

“I think it’s fair to say we all get to be a bit of messy eaters when eating burgers.” He defended himself, clearing his throat.

“So,” She tried to change the subject, much to his amusement. “Why a club?”

“It gives a ton of money.”

“So does a restaurant. Or an inn.”

“What? And no fun?” He smirked, causing her to narrow her eyes. _He really believed it was_ that _easy to charm her, as if she hadn’t somewhat figured him out. Not much, because that would definitely be impossible – he didn’t give much away – but some things were just obvious._

“What’s fun about clubs?”

“Touché.”

“You’re not the only one who’s an observer, Mister Stilinski.” She stated proudly, not shying away as she sent a wink his way and grabbed her drink, slowly wrapping her luscious lips around the straw when she noticed the way he watched her movements. “You shouldn’t underestimate me like that.”

“Oh, _Doctor_ Martin,” He gasped dramatically, pressing one of his hands to his chest mockingly. “I would never!”

“ _Shut up_.”

 

...

 

Several weeks later, he was entering the precinct with take-out from the place they first ate together when he realised that, though it was the first time he took the initiative to buy her lunch and taking it to her workplace, no one really needed to question where he was heading anymore. And it surely wasn’t because he had messed with their minds, or scared them to death – they genuinely already knew he was there for one person only, and didn’t take him as a threat anymore. He stepped out of the elevator after riding it to the morgue’s floor, and trudged into her office rather than where he assumed she was working, closing the door and the blinds behind him before placing the bags on her desk.

“I brought lunch,” Stiles spoke loudly enough for her to hear him in the next room, discarding his leather jacket and hanging it by the door. “…and I’m going to steal your laptop and play _The Notebook_ so you can have an actual pause and spend some time with me. I haven’t seen you in two days, Lydia.”

She chose the moment he was bending over the table to grab her laptop to enter the office while removing her gloves, and though she had the perfect view of his behind that she had been overly obsessed with for the first days they spent together, constantly finding an excuse to sneak her hands in the back pockets of his trousers to either grope him, or just be, the first thing she could come up with was, “You’re wearing jeans.”

“Uh,” He frowned, finally turning to face her. “Nice observation there, Sherlock.”

“No, I mean -” She leaned away from the doorframe, and grumbled. Yes, she did that too – he had noticed, eventually, when they grew closer, that she had the ability to be grumpier and more sarcastic than he was, if it was necessary, _something that, to him, was quite surprising_. He had also noticed that he never got to win, not with her. _Though, to be fair, he was wrong most of the time_. “I’ve never seen you wearing jeans.”

“Problem?”

“It’s just unusual.”

“I can take them off, if you’d like?” His mouth quirked up in a sly smile, and she rolled her eyes, though wasn’t exactly capable of hiding her own grin.

“Smooth, Stilinski.” She mumbled, and shrugged on her lab coat before helping him with the food. A quiet, pleasurable moan slid past her lips at the delicious scent of burgers, and he tore his gaze away in an attempt to ignore the reaction she always managed to elicit from him whenever she got a little bit too much excited over food, which usually was always innocent. “And, you know, I should work.”

“You’ve been on it for hours. Aren’t you tired?”

“Mostly bored, honestly.” He was unwrapping his meal when those words reached his ears, and after sitting on the couch, patting the place beside him so she’d sit as well rather than stand or sit at her desk, he frowned.

“Bored? You're cutting open dead people, and you're bored? Isn’t that,” Holding back the small, husky laugh that threatened to escape, he continued, though lower and through his teeth, almost like he was scared whoever was on the other room would hear them. _Funny._ “…a little insensitive?”

“That’s not what I meant -”

“But it kind of is. There’s a dead person there, who you’ve opened up, and you’re bored to find out their cause of death.”

“It’s natural cause -”

“And _so, naturally_ , it’s boring?”

“God, you’re still insufferable, and none of your jokes are actually funny.” The doctor groaned, biting into her burger to stop herself from saying anything unpleasant, and the noise that escaped through her lips suddenly turned into something more erotic.

“Seriously,” It was his turn to grumble as he placed his food on the small coffee table in front of them, wiping his hands on his jeans. “…are you having an orgasm there? Can burgers have that effect on you?”

“I might as well be having one, and you can’t really blame me either. I haven’t eaten in days.”

“You could have, hadn’t you locked yourself in here.”

“I have to work, Stiles -”

“I mean, you don’t even see the light of day.”

“I don’t exactly control death -”

“I bet you’ve been sleeping on this couch.”

“And once I receive a call -”

“And not to mention, you could have had food _and_ orgasms if you’d just -”

“Stiles!”

“It’s been two days!” He growled, finally looking into hazel eyes that watched him intently. But then, her mouth formed one of the brightest, most annoying smiles he had ever seen on her face, and he instantly regretted saying anything in the first place for he knew she was going to find a way to torment him right there.

“ _Aw_ , did you miss me?”

“ _No_.” He scoffed, grabbing his burger once again. “You were simply all source of all my entertainment.”

“Jesus,” She breathed, her own attention back on her meal as she took small bites, stealing a few glances occasionally. “You run a club, and _I’m_ the source of your entertainment? Things must get really boring for you.”

_You have no idea. Been feeding off blood bags. Had to warm it on the microwave last night, because I miss the real thing. o-positive, of all types. Seriously, been craving some b-negative, if I’m being honest. What’s your blood type –_

_Fuck, snap out of it._

“Yeah, and _you_ say you’re bored.” He said after a while unnecessarily, since she didn’t seem to be expecting an answer anymore if her nearly eaten burger was any indication. That seemed to shut him up, though.

Once they were done with lunch, he held back the urge to use his supernatural speed to clean up, and so, while he took his sweet time doing that, she lounged on the couch, clearly trying not to fall asleep a couple of times he heard her breathing deepening, slowing down – every time, it got interrupted as she startled herself out of her sleeping state with a groan. That may or may not have been the reason why it took him longer to clean up, since he got distracted by the mere sight of her forcing herself to stay awake, and he couldn’t deny how adorable she was.

He plopped down on the couch next to her after the office was as impeccable, and as tidy as before, and with a mere click, the movie started playing on her laptop, that was propped on the coffee table, whilst she snuggled against his chest. They were halfway through the movie, with Lydia snoozing every five minutes, when she decided to stay alert by beginning to speak again.

“What’s your first name? Your _actual_ name?” She was mid-whisper when he groaned, throwing his head back at the realisation she was not going to drop that topic, no matter how much he tried to distract her. And, _seriously_ , he had tried to distract her a lot for the past weeks, with million different ways. He was _very_ creative.

“Can’t you just – _forget_ that?”

“No!” She whisper-yelled, as if it would bother the actors currently playing on her laptop screen. “We’ve been dating for a while -”

“ _Dating_?”

“We’re quite… _intimate._ ”

“You say that like it’s a sin.”

“For a lot of people, before the wedding, it _is_ a sin!”

“So, you’re telling me you want to get married?” He faked curiosity, biting his plump lips not to laugh when she suddenly froze in his arms, and her mouth opened, and closed, no actual words coming out. _That should shut her up._

“No – that’s not – it’s not -”

“Please don’t have an aneurysm.” That earned him an elbow to the ribs, before she huffed dramatically.

“You’ve met my mother!” _It didn’t shut her up_.

“ _Accidentally_.”

“Still.”

“Mieczyslaw.”

“What?”

“Mieczyslaw.”

“Are _you_ having an aneurysm?” It was the slight tilt of one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows that led him to believe she wasn't kidding, but even so, he couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes so hard it worried her they'd get stuck at the back of his head.

“My name. It’s Mieczyslaw.”

“Miecz -” She stopped abruptly, as predicted, since he expected her to be unable to pronounce his name – no matter the amount of times he said it out loud. But then, she was laughing – genuine, deep hearty laughs, - until she concluded he was _not_ kidding when he just stared, with the most serious expression she had seen on his face in weeks. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I am. You wanted to know it, shouldn’t I have said it?”

“No, I just – should I call you Mike, to make it easier?”

_What?!_

“Just call me Stiles, Lydia.”

“Okay.”

And then she was laughing again.

“I can’t believe I thought you were having an aneurysm.”

“God -” He huffed, his eyes rolling sarcastically again. “…if you don’t shut up, I might.”

 

...

 

Two days later, shortly after midnight, his phone beeped with a text message from an unknown number. He grasped at the phone, sliding out of his piano’s bench so he could escape from the crowd, and whilst he stepped in the elevator, riding it up to his penthouse, he opened the message. It didn’t take him long to understand it was Lydia’s friend, and colleague, when it read; _she needs you, but is too stubborn to say so_ ; with a location that he quickly realised was the beach. It would have made him scoff, the fact the detective typed an address rather than the _fucking_ word ‘beach’ if he wasn’t so worried, and after grabbing the keys of his jeep, he entered the elevator once more.

Not that he could feel it, but the first thing he noticed after exiting the jeep was that it was freezing cold – to humans, of course, - and there was absolutely _no one_ there, but someone sitting far too close to the ocean, on the sand. Silently apologising to his expensive suit and shoes, as if that actually mattered at the moment and _it honestly didn’t, he just needed an excuse to why he stood there, so far from her but still being able to listen to those quiet sobs, completely frozen on the spot without knowing what to do next_ , he made his way towards the slumped female form lit only by the soft moonlight that casted its glow across the sea.

“What? No bikini?” That was the first thing he could come up with as soon as he stopped next to her, taking his time to rake his eyes across her entire body before removing his coat and wrapping it around her shaking shoulders. _It’s not like he was going to get cold anyway_. Only then, he plopped down beside her, ignoring the discomfort that settled on him once he came in contact with sand.

“I should have known he was going to call you.”

“Well, it _is_ true that the detectives you work with are not at all capable of surprising people.” He teased, leaning back and resting his weight on his elbows while he looked up at the sky full of stars.

“I’m pretty sure you are also supposed to cheer me up.”

“And aren’t I? My presence alone should have done the trick already.” She chuckled, and his smile only widened at the realisation his plan was working. He wasn’t exactly known for his ability to talk to people when they needed to let it all out, and so he had approached her with the intention of making her laugh, which was clearly working so far. But she wasn’t just _somebody else_ , and that meant he had to make an actual effort to comfort her. “Wanna talk about it?”

“There are three females, under their 20s, on my morgue.”

“Lydia -”

“Children, Stiles. I just – I needed a place that would help me think.”

He took that as an invitation to fall silent after murmuring a simple, “of course”, and returning all his attention to the bright dots above them. And, surprisingly, for once, silence was absolutely killing him. He didn’t have the luxury to say that he hadn’t felt loneliness, because he most definitely had, that happened when you live through centuries and see everyone you love die. But silence wasn’t on the list of things that bothered him, quite the opposite, he often took pleasure in it. Except, whenever he was around Lydia, there rarely ever existed silence. There was always talk, or laughter, his and her fingers sliding and pressing piano keys, or the simple sound of her doing her job, writing important notes down, tapping her fingertips on the surface of any table, whenever she was nervous, soft, breathless moans and pleas, terrible, almost laughable singing in the shower – never quiet, never lonely. However, when it did get quiet, it wasn’t that hostile kind of silence that was bothering him at that very moment.

And that was what brought him to sit up, and begin to unbutton his shirt. “I’m gonna go for a swim. Are you coming?”

“Are you insane? It’s freezing, Stiles -”

“I didn't ask if the weather was favourable, Lyds.” He said cheekily, discarding his white shirt on the sand and letting his pale skin come into view, before jumping to his feet and toeing off his shoes. “I’m saying I will get in that cold, merciless water and I wanted to know if you’d like to join me.”

“Of course _not_!”

Lydia hoped, in all honesty, that as soon as she declined his request – quite rudely, may she add – he’d end up giving up on such a fool idea as well, but soon enough he was sliding his pants down his legs, and stepping out of them, throwing them carelessly on the sand next to her before beginning to jog down towards the water and dipping into it as soon as it reached his knees.

“Really?” He shouted once he came back up to the surface, running agile fingers through his soaked, black hair and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “This is _me_ cheering _you_ up! Get in here, woman! Don’t make me regret dating you.”

“ _No_ ,” She shouted between laughter, shrugging off his coat and slowly standing on her feet as well, before she slid out of her clothes. “…you’re being dumb, and somewhat suicidal. And I’m gonna be even dumber, follow your lead, and freeze to death as well.”

With that said, she rushed towards the sea, dipping her feet in cold water and quickly moving forward, since there was a high possibility of her talking herself out of the whole plan if she let herself get used to the water’s temperature before moving in. Once she was close enough to him, to be able to throw herself at him and wrap her arms and thighs around his body, she jumped messily, though it seemed as if he had enough strength not to even budge.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and her entire torso was pressed against his whilst his palms were gripping too tightly onto the back of her thighs, and she was _cold_. But he was even colder, and she wasn’t sure why she was holding on for dear life as if he could, all of a sudden, warm her up. That was clearly _not_ going to happen.

Still, she leaned in, her lips too close to his and it instantly stole his breath – which was stupid, he didn’t need to breathe, but _muscle memory_ , or whatever. The truth was that he hadn’t kissed her in two days, and she was a mess, currently dealing with the death of three children, and although he had years of experience of dealing with all that’s evil in the world, himself included, he wasn’t necessarily insensitive and was well aware of the fact that what she needed was time, and space to cope with it rather than getting something else that would distract her. But, beyond not being insensitive, he wasn’t a hypocrite either, and he had found himself plenty of distractions in the past to know that, _maybe,_ that’s what she needed too, and he didn’t mind being it for her.

He could feel her shuddering breath on his lips when hers, cold and wet, met his in a soft, far too quick for his taste, kiss, and before she had the chance to fully pull away, he kissed her once more. A sad, pathetic way of his to let her know, without words, that he was there. Yet when she did pull away, and he noticed fresh, heavy tears pooling in those beautiful hazel eyes that seemed greener than usual, he couldn’t help himself and he _talked_. He actually tried to comfort her without overthinking it.

“You can’t save everyone, baby.” Not what she wanted to hear, but it was the truth. She couldn’t.

“I’m not saving anyone. I can’t save _anyone_.” She mumbled in a small, heartbreaking voice as a sob wrecked through her whole body, and quickly, his hands were cupping her face gently. He trusted her not to let go, and consequently fall back in the water.

“You save plenty of people _every_ single day, my love.” He spoke softly, but still firmly, in hopes that she would actually let those words sink in. His lips traced her cheekbone lightly, and he reached up to kiss her tears away. “You can’t stop death,” _No, you can’t; nor can you win its cruel games._ “…but every time a body ends up on your table, you put every second of your time, all the effort, strength and attention you have to find out what happened to that person. Through that, _your work, your efforts_ , you help honourable people to find who did that to them, if that’s the case, and by doing so, you save other people from having the same happening to them, and you help others mourning, being worthy of the truth, moving on.”

“But I couldn’t save _them_.”

“No one could. It was bound to happen, Lydia, it wasn’t in your hands to stop it or save them. Unfortunately, there are cruel people out there,” _myself included, if you only knew_. “…and you get to stop them now. You couldn’t stop them then, but you can stop them now. You are _going to_ stop them now.”

Her arms tightened around his neck, and suddenly her lips were pressed to his again, even if he couldn’t exactly find a way to kiss her with her sobbing. But he didn’t pull away, he didn’t take _her_ comfort, that was _him_ , away when she needed it, and that had to mean for something. That had to mean that, after all the killing, the awful, lonely years, decades he was lost, all the bodies that were dropped by him, after the cruel reality that he was nothing but a monster, he may not be worthy of redemption but – _maybe_ he could fight to deserve her.

“Thank you.”

She had mumbled quietly after finally calming down a bit, while he walked out of the sea, carrying her all the way until he was standing next to their discarded clothes. He had smiled, which promptly caused her to smile as well before tiny, loving kisses were pressed onto his lips.

“Did I cheer you up?”

“No, not really.” And he couldn’t help but laugh, because honestly, he suspected he hadn’t done a good job at making her feel better. But then, after she stole his shirt, slipping it on, and he wrapped his coat around her shoulders – _because it’s not like he could get cold_ – she smiled lovingly, and wrapped her arms around his bare torso, pressing her cold lips against his chest where his heart no longer beat, and murmured, completely oblivious to the lack of heartbeat. “But you were asked to come to my rescue, and you came immediately, and you were there for me, and didn’t turn away when things got… deeper. Serious. More meaningful. You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“You’re _still_ here.”

“And I’m going to be here.” He mumbled, kissing the top of her head tenderly while wrapping his arms tightly around her.

_Because **you** are the one that isn’t going to be here anymore, once you find out what I am, or what I’m capable of. _

 

...

 

Spending the rest of the night, and the entire following with day with her was a bonus. Normally, they didn’t get to spend much time together, since she worked during the day, and he had his own nightclub to run, but after taking her home and making sure she was warm enough and wasn’t going to die of hypothermia, he ended up staying with her to ensure she would be alright, too, and wouldn’t beat herself up too badly over what was currently happening, _over what she had absolutely no control over_. It was also perhaps the first time he stayed at her place without any of them getting fully naked, but he wasn’t complaining. Watching her half on top of him, an arm draped over his torso, her head safely pressed against his chest, and their legs curled whilst she slept wasn't exactly an unwelcome sight. Especially when she mumbled incoherently in her sleep, something about werewolves howling at the moon and little werewolf ovens and the bite is a gift which given what he was, it was quite ironic.

The fact she demanded chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast and lunch only made it better for him, even if he was forced to come to the conclusion he was incapable of denying her something, _anything at all really_. They ended up spending the rest of the day snuggled up on the couch, watching random sitcoms whilst she sipped on her cocoa and he pretended to sip from his, until eventually she ended up drinking his as well. Nothing against hot cocoa, he’d just rather drink a cup of hot coffee instead, it would strengthen him a lot more, since blood was out of the question. It was _that_ thought that made him realise he was, supposedly, a creature that must be feared, that hunts and kills and feels no type of remorse. That feels no humanity whatsoever and finds it rather easy to avoid it if necessary, which normally is all the time. That was surrounded, and deep down, was darkness itself. And yet, there he was, lounging on the couch, with her sitting between his legs, arms tightly wrapped around her mid-section and his chin propped on the top of her head whilst they watched tv.

It was uncommon to him, vampires cuddling - even if it was a cliché - but blood was easily related to lust, and lust generally meant a one nightstand for him, that thankfully never ended in death but only fangs marks in someone's entire body, _unless he was in on a rookie move by keeping someone around for far too long, merely to his pleasure and happiness only_. Yet Lydia was so much more, and every time he was with her, he reminded himself of it, _as if he could forget about it at all_. _No, he_ couldn’t, the simple thought of her usually was enough to let him know he was in too deep.

So, when night came and he found no other excuses to stick around any longer, he finally forced himself to leave her loft to go home. Without his shirt, that she not-so-subtly stole from him and wore all day, even when he repeatedly let her know he would need clothes to leave her place, unless she wouldn’t mind people seeing him shirtless – every time, she answered with how his coat would solve all problems as long as he buttoned it up. Hadn’t he been so proud of how quick she was to reply to every single one of his witty remarks, he would have probably felt slightly irritated that someone got him wrapped around their little finger.

And that’s what got him to smile, _foolishly_ , like a _teenage in love_ , when he slid the key into the lock and twisted it open, stepping inside his penthouse shortly after 10 pm. The first thing he noticed after kicking the door shut was his brother, who held an apologetic facial expression across his face, palms up in a defensive gesture. His brow rose expectantly, waiting for him to explain his presence in his home when he wasn’t around, only to be met with a dry chuckle from another side of the room, and he didn’t need to turn to follow the source of the sound, to know who that person was – he knew that terrifying, _to a lot of people, Isaac included,_ sound far too well.

“Do you often get in people’s houses without their consent?” Stiles spat, _ironically_ , watching as the brown-haired male visibly swallowed before tossing a grey sweater that was nearby at him as if his lack of clothing was going to make that situation worse for any of them. As if he cared. But he still took off his coat and wore the sweater.

“No, not normally. I believe that’s not possible to our species.”

“Figured that would teach you some manners.”

“I swear I didn’t let him in.” Isaac filled in, unnecessarily, causing his brother to glare at him in an attempt to stop him from talking.

“What are you doing here?” He growled, finally addressing the other male in the room properly as he turned to face him, and clasped his hands behind his back to prevent from doing something stupid, like ripping his head off.

_Donovan_ challengingly avoided his gaze, in order to stare at Isaac instead, knowing that would affect Stiles quicker than anything he had to tell him, and after noticing, out of the corner of his eye, the way his jaw clenched tightly, he smirked in accomplishment, and finally met amber coloured eyes.

“I just heard you were playing with your food, and decided to stop by and talk some sense into you. Figured you could use it.”

The indirect mention of Lydia caused the male to inhale, deeply, through his nose, and he tried as hard as he could not to show how enraged it made him feel, the fact the only vampire he knew to actually enjoy being one claimed to come all that way to respectfully speak with him about a possible existential crisis he was having, when, in fact, he was threatening him.

Containing his anger, holding it all back, was practically pointless when it came to the one person that tried to make his entire immortality a living hell. He knew that. His brother knew that. His nemesis knew that.

“Stiles, don’t -”

It was too late, _all of them knew it was too late_ , and he crossed the room in a blur, his vampire speed coming in handy, as his canine teeth extended in razor-sharp fangs and his eyes turned blood-red before he shoved the male against the nearest wall, holding him with a tight grip around his neck. A deep, guttural growl escaped through his clenched teeth, and though the youngest vampire in the room pleaded him to stop, he was smart enough not to approach them after being repeatedly warned not to in the past.

“It's weird how the simple mention of that walking juicebox gets you so riled up, Stilinski. Shouldn't you be over epic loves, pathetic crushes, or fragile humans that are supposed to be dealt with as food by now?”

Predictably, Zac was behind him, and forcibly pushing him away before things got messier, even after being told there was no way he was letting himself get hurt in the presence of that stereotypical, asshole of a vampire that was too slow to realise he was the one _needing_ mere humans to survive.

Only when there was a safe distance between him and Donovan, did his brother actually let go of him.

“Well, at least you haven’t fully lost your mind and are using her in some way. So, tell me, what’s the most intimate spot on her body where you’ve bitten her yet?” That question was met with silence, - dread one in Isaac’s opinion - as he gleefully reminded them all the fact Stiles came in shirtless, but then, the lack of answer seemed to amuse him and he was suddenly bent over, releasing the wickedest laughs either of them had ever heard. “What? No bite marks?”

“Seriously? Are we actually taking shit from this guy?”

“We wouldn’t be, if you hadn’t pulled me away.” Stiles hissed under his breath, wandering aimlessly around the room like he was preparing himself for any attack from Donovan’s part.

“Aren’t you going to warn me not to come near her, threaten to feed me my own spleen if I do?”

“And give you the pleasure of knowing how much she means to me?”

Which, in his defence, was quite a lot. But admitting it out loud meant giving it more meaning than he could at that moment, and it would hurt his pride having to say it, for the first time, to someone he absolutely detested.

Donovan ran his fingertips on the curtain, tugging slightly on it and gazing up at the dark sky, filled with bright, twinkling stars. “Has she had the opportunity to read Dating A Vampire For Dummies? Surely, there is a chapter somewhere that warns you about inheriting said vampire’s enemies by being with one. Let’s hope she reaches that part soon enough, and makes the smart choice to leave you, since you’re far too stupid to know the implications of lowering yourself to a mere human.”

The last word was said with disdain, and Stiles had lost his patience the minute he had sensed his presence in the room, to be able to deal with that much longer. Therefore, his reaction to those attempts to provoke him was clearly the most reckless, and impulsive one as he grabbed he nearest chair and broke one of its legs, throwing it in the other male’s direction at super speed.

“ _Fuck_ , Stiles!”

His brother’s scream, along with Donovan catching the piece of wood, brought him out of his haze to realise how bad of an action that was, but it was too late. Per usual, his necessity to resort to _feelings_ got him to be too slow, and incapable of protecting himself, he was left with the feeling of that same piece of wood being thrusted through his stomach with usual vampire strength, but less of its speed, as if the intention was to make him suffer more, through it, with every inch of wood that was pushed into him. And it was, and it worked.

Helplessly reaching up with both hands, he wrapped them around the stake and gazed up at his foe who lowered him down to the ground with a hand on his shoulder. The only thing he brought himself to do was glancing over Donovan to slightly shake his head at his closest friend, silently begging him not to approach him, to try and help him, since it would only end with his death, and there was _no_ way he was losing someone that night.

“Still _so_ emotional,” Donovan growled, gripping tightly onto the broken chair’s leg before twisting it inside him. “You have _no_ idea the satisfaction it would give me, killing you. But killing _her_?” His lips were inches away from Stilinski’s ear, and he forced his eyes shut, trying not to let any word that came out of his lips anger him more. “Taking her away from you? Watching you suffer, _mourn_ her? That’s so much better. And you know the best part? The best part is,” Breaking the piece of wood, purposely leaving some of it lodged inside, he continued. “You won’t know when I plan on doing it, and so, until then, you’ll be constantly looking over your shoulder, watching every step she takes, ensuring yourself that nothing is going to harm her unless you can stop it. Until I drive you crazy, and _then_ – then, I’ll take her away from you. Because you’re in too deep, and leaving her now isn’t an option.”

“Bye, Isaac.”

He heard him saying, before the front door to his penthouse opened and closed, and then Isaac was kneeling in front him, taking his face in his hands with concern and dread etched across his features.

“Brother, _please_. What do I do?”

“Lyd-ia.” He breathed, one of his hands pressed into his bleeding wound whilst he fell forward into his brother's embrace, knowing he'd catch him.

“What?”

“Lydia.”

“Seriously? You’re worried about her right -”

“Isaac,” He spoke slightly louder, more forcibly, though his voice was still somewhat muffled against the other male’s shoulder. “She’s a doctor. And unlike you, she’s not scared of digging into my stomach and pulling a piece of wood out.”

“Right, a doctor. That works on the dead. Isn’t that ironic?”

“ _Isaac_!”

 

 

...

 

“Stiles? – _Zac_?”

_Please invite me in_. That was Isaac’s only thought as he carried his brother, and best friend, up the stairs to Lydia’s loft, and after knocking on the door, and having it opened to reveal the beautiful strawberry blonde, that was all he wanted to hear from her.

Except things weren’t that easy, and he currently had a limp arm around his shoulders, and was holding a half-dead – _again, the irony_ – Stiles Stilinski who was still bleeding to be able to deal with that woman’s obliviousness.

“Please help us.” Yeah, that worked.

“Then come in!”

Her exasperated tone was not appreciated, but he was too busy carrying a heavy vampire in her loft to care, so pushing all those thoughts to the back of his head, he nearly dragged him towards the bed and lay him down gently, rather than letting him collapse onto it as he initially planned.

“What happened?”

Yeah, he hadn’t thought that far.

“He needs blood!” She all but growled.

_Yeah, he does. Wait,_ what?!

“What?!”

Her glare was supposed to be a response, but the brown-haired male was too busy gawking to realise that. She grabbed the hem of the bloody sweater, and tugged it upwards in order to assess the wound, when he sputtered. “How – what the _shit_ , how do you know?”

“I can spot one of you from a mile away, Isaac. And even if I couldn't, you're not exactly that subtle.”

“True that.” She pressed the skin around the wound gently, causing the injured vampire to grunt in pain. “But why didn’t you say anything?”

“Uh,” She hummed, still too focused on the wound to argue with the other man as she’d like, and after straddling Stiles’ hips – which caused Isaac to gasp and question if it was the right time for kinky stuff – she continued. “…this is going to get ugly. How about you go out and get him some blood?”

“Yeah, that seems like a good idea.”

Anything that would get him out of there, really. Maybe if he felt useful, he would forget the fact she practically admitted being able to tell who's a vampire, and who isn't. Once she heard the door opening and closing, she ran her fingers through dark, soft hair and whispered soothingly. “This is probably going to hurt, so can you, _please_ , try not to move or, _I don’t know_ , send me flying to the floor as a reaction to pain?”

“I’ll try.” He promised through clenched teeth, his hands instantly grasping at silk sheets in an attempt to stop himself from hurting _her_.

Her hazel eyes fluttered shut, and she took a deep, supposedly calming breath, while holding a pair of forceps, and then husked, “ _shit_ ,” before pressing her free palm on his chest and forcing most of her weight on it to, uselessly, hold him down as she finally dug in. She had to fully concentrate on the wound not to get distressed by his groans of pain, or the way this particular vein on his forehead, and on his neck, popped out, showing the amount of effort he was putting into handling the pain without harming her in any way, or lashing out – as his nature probably told him to. Again, her eyes closed slightly as she tried to locate the piece of wood since she couldn’t see anything, and the last thing she needed was to harm him even more, and once she did find it, she pulled it out and tossed it to the bed along with the forceps, watching in awe as the wound healed completely.

“You need blood.” She repeated, eventually, quite unnecessarily whilst he wrapped his head around the fact his _girlfriend_ had used a pair of forceps to remove a piece of a chair’s leg out of his abdomen.

_Wait, when had he started thinking of her as his girlfriend?_

“Isaac will be here in no time.”

“No, you need it now, otherwise you wouldn’t need my help to do _that_.” His eyes fluttered open when he felt her tugging him upwards into a sitting position, and a scowl found its way to his face when she forcibly removed his ruined sweater. It was only when she started to eye every bit of available skin that he realised she was probably looking for more injuries.

“I’m fine, Lyds.”

“You need to feed.” None of them mentioned the fact she was still straddling his lap. “Feed off _me_.”

A low, full of amusement chuckle escaped his mouth, and she frowned. Was she actually serious? Feeding off her?

“You’re not kidding.” He stated, instantly shaking his head. “ _No_. That’s not an option.”

“Yes, it is. I’m not asking, either, Stiles. It’s clear you haven’t been feeding properly.”

“The answer is _no_ , Lydia.” _But if you say it one more time, I might not be able to resist it…_

“ _Bite_ me, Stiles!”

He wasn’t sure what convinced him, the fact she was so certain of it, or the glare she sent his way – for someone so small, she was definitely terrifying when she wanted to be.

“Just – some place where no one will be able to see it. I don’t feel like using scarves, and I don’t have long sleeved scrubs.” At her command, his shaky, unsure fingers traced the buttons of his shirt that she was _still_ wearing, and he hesitantly began to undo the first two before she grew impatient and growled slightly under her breath, ripping it open as buttons flew in every direction while muttering. “ _Seriously_ Stiles, it’s full of blood. I highly doubt you’re going to need it again.”

His plump, surprisingly soft lips brushed across her collarbone and down her chest until his face was buried between her full breasts, and before she had the time to grow impatient again, and grumble something like _get it over with already_ , two sharp fangs were dragged across her smooth skin, before he bit down and sunk them into her tender flesh above one of her breasts whilst his hands gripped onto her hips. A strangled, embarrassing noise found its way out of her mouth and her fingers slipped through black hair, tugging slightly on it almost in an encouraging way as he hummed contentedly while lapping and sucking at her chest – which, frankly, hurt a lot more than she previously thought it would, but she was somewhat _enjoying_ it. Did that make her a freak?

He pulled back without even needing to be asked to, and she glanced down at him when he tilted his head backwards, catching him in time to see him licking up stray drops of blood that dripped out from his lips. When he opened his eyes, they weren’t the blood-red she expected them to be, but were still slightly darker than usual, causing her to smile slyly. She was also about to comment on it when he leaned forward once more and ran his tongue across her skin – _again_ licking up stray drops of blood from her chest, and she found herself moaning. At the action itself, and the realisation he was a messy eater.

_Technically, she already knew that_.

He rolled them over, until she was laying down on the dirty sheets with him on top of her, and watching as he arched a brow down at her, she traced his jaw.

“So...” It was clear that he was seeking for an explanation for the fact she knew what he was, and wasn’t bothered in the slightest by it.

“My best friend is a werewolf.”

“Well, that's going to put a strain into our relationship.” He teased, and a tiny part of him wondered how _he_ wasn’t bothered by it.

“I’m a banshee.”

And, for some reason, that elicited the weirdest, least expected reaction from him. His mouth quirked up in a beautiful, loving smile, and his long, agile fingers slipped through strawberry blonde waves as he leaned down to kiss her, letting her feel the delicious, metallic taste of her own blood.

“Is that what led you to work on the dead?”

“Yes,” She murmured, her quiet laugh getting muffled by his lips. “…you still remember that?”

“I’d been hoping to find the real reason behind you choosing this path for your life.” He said softly, pulling back to stroke the puncture wounds his fangs created before continuing. “I should heal this.”

“No.”

“Are you a masochist?” His tone was full of mockery, but with some traces of worry nonetheless.

“No, Stiles,” As her hands cupped his cheeks, he willingly leaned into the touch and stared into hazel eyes. “I want you, _all_ of you. Vampirism included. It’s bad enough you’ve been keeping the fact you’re a vampire from your _girlfriend_ ,” So he wasn’t the only one thinking of her as that. “…which I get, but I don’t want you to hide it anymore. _That_ would put a strain into our relationship.”

“Is it just me, or you’re turned on by my fangs?”

“That might influence me just a little.”


End file.
